


The Slow Road Home

by heroesinahalfshell91



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Loss of Innocence, Love, Multi, Recovery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4688129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroesinahalfshell91/pseuds/heroesinahalfshell91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Macavity has done the unthinkable, slain his father, tortured and broken the Tribe that exiled him, and has now left them to suffer. The story centers on the horrendous events that transpired, and the long road to recovery faced by individuals, families, and the Tribe as a whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now

The fear and trepidation hung around the Yard, thick, heavy and oppressive like the early morning fog that had rolled in. Some of the men had gone in search of Macavity, and the abducted Tribe members, but that was nearly five days ago. The cats who were left behind set about the grim task of rebuilding their homes, and piecing back together what they could of their shattered lives.

Some cats like Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were making do out of the kindness of others, their home utterly destroyed by the fire the couple now picked through the remains, trying to rescue anything of sentiment or value. Skimbleshanks, one arm in a sling and his shattered ribs heavily braced helped them, wincing and breathing heavily from time to time but never complaining, and never giving up.

No one spoke, not in the whole Yard, a sickness of the heart having set in like a plague. Old Deuteronomy was dead, as was Gus the theater cat who had put up a vain fight in his grandchildren's defense, the Yard razed, queens, toms, and kits absconded with; to fall prey to any number of wicked crimes. Many filthy, vile, and unwanted images managed to eke their way into the cats minds as they worked in the quiet, etching their brains with morbid and vulgar scenarios they would rather not be thinking about.

Jellylorum, the queen whose hands had not long ago buried her leader and then her father trembled with apprehension and a longing to hold her youngest kits as she helped pick through the charred remains of friends' lives. She was haggard and like the rest, having gone days without sleep save for the fitful bouts of dreamless unconsciousness that could scarcely be called slumber they all seemed to slip into from time to time. She was the first one to see them coming through the mists an obscure troupe of figures veiled by the haze.

With an inaudible gasp of hopeful surprise she stopped what she was doing, soot stained fingers flying to her mouth. Tumblebrutus, her eldest son, rushed to her side, his hands gripping her shoulders steadying the queen on her tired, unbalanced feet as her knees buckled, and legs gave way beneath her.

A nervous murmur ran through the crowd as they pulled closer to one another, seeking support and strength from their numbers. Made cynical by recent events no one was prepared to accept the trudging shapes as good fortune. With whispers of a second attack clashing against the wistful promise of returned love ones the shadowy silhouettes began to take on dimension and form. When the tension and apprehension had reached its electrifying climax Munkustrap his silvery tabby coat glistening in the cold autumn sunlight emerged into the Yard.

The men and stolen members stumbled their way in behind him, worn, and many bloodied, broken. With a tenuous thrill of relief parents, siblings, and children of those who had been robbed from them during the Jellilce's most sacred night rushed forward to claim them. All at once where silence had so reigned crying, laugher, and a calling of names rang out over the expanse. From seemingly no where blankets appeared falling upon the shoulders of the returned as family wrapped them in strong embraces, whispering their love and lamented for those who shied away or refused to partake in their homecoming.

Pouncival, his ears drooping, young body riddled with claw marks and his large expressive eyes wide with horror clung to his younger sister Etcetera. The pair shuffled forward with stiff guarded strides, eyeing their neighbors with suspicion. The pale furred female cradled a badly broken wrist, the limb swollen double its usual size, fingers a sickly shade of grey. When she spied her mother coming towards them the young tabby tore away from her brother in a frantic fit of tears and into Jellylorum's awaiting arms.

Holding fast to her daughter Jelly cried to the heavens with gratitude and joy, calling up to her father and lavishing the girl with affection even as she reached for Pounce. The boy flinched, backing away from his family.

"Mom, not now, please..." he said tearily, unable to meet her gaze. She hesitated, inching nearer, but the fur along his back rose slightly, a wild unruly shadow passing over his visage.

"Let's give him some space." Brutus, ever the rational son murmured to their mother helping her to rise. Jelly nodded, a sharp pain lancing through her heart at the rejection as she ushered her children towards home, struggling to balance with an Etcetera who refused to let go, and burdened with a lack of knowledge regarding the cruelties that had been wrought upon her two of her three children.

The dark coated Electra, shoved past the others in a frantic pelt to escape whatever terrors might be stalking just behind her and barreled into her father's awaiting arms begining to sob immediately, nosing at him, hands clinging, and wholly unable to find words for her joy or relief. Skimble ignoring his pain hugging his only child as tightly as his wounds would allow rejoicing in her safety and return. It struck him then as had never before how profoundly she looked like her mother who had passed with the other kits in birthing, and he knew then he would be lost without her. Kneeling in the ash and debris he smoothed a hand over her coat gently humming lullabies that hadn't crossed his lips in years.

Many older cats, like Cassandra, slunk away in silence, their wounds their own or shunned what mates they had that came seeking them. The abyssinian who had no one slipped off without much pageantry, her pride and beautiful face badly damaged by the ordeal struck for home quiet and alone.

Munkustrap who had led them all here watched the reunions happening about him with a grim sense of duty, obligation, and regret. Jennyanydots who'd patched up the disheveled cats that had stayed behind approached with a rag for the gash above his brow. With the blood dry and wound already closing, the tom waved her off with annoyance and aggravation as she began to tend to him.

"You will need to gather your medical supplies," he went on to explain evenly. "many of them are hurt, some seriously so." he said in a weary tone before holding himself a bit higher as the feeling of eyes washing over his form settled somewhere in the back of his consciousness. Knowing that the Tribe now looked to him for leadership and strength, giving orders he ruefully felt in that moment more comfortable and in control than he had since the attack.

Munkus's words of instruction were cut short, halted at sight of his number two shuffling past with the aid of a tree branch. Encumbered by a heavy limp the younger male's face was set with determination but still, the agony shown through.

"Alonzo," he called briefly, moving away from Jenny with a sigh. Approaching the black and white tom who bore a torn ear, his insides felt knotted. He had yet to have the opportunity speak to his second in command, not really, but finding the words was difficult, painful even.

"It wasn't your fault," he began, his attempt lame and seemingly half hearted, though his intentions were earnest and pure. "You couldn't have done anything more than you already did to protect the Tribe." the tabby pressed on, but his words were failing him miserably.

Alonzo, with tears standing in his stark grey eyes, and the red of blood staining his fur he glared up at his mentor silencing him at once. "If I had been stronger..." he choked on a voice that cracked. Squeezing shut his eyes and allowing the bitter tears of hate and contempt to flow freely the tom left the rest unspoken his tone bitter and full of remorse hanging in the air around them. Alonzo shook his head solemnly, taking the opportunity provided by a frantic Bombalurina to amble away.

Bleary eyed and trembling the red queen took her brother-in-law, and leader's hands in her own. "Tugger? Impetuoua?" she asked tone that was weak and faltering.

"Balurina," Munkustrap began sorrowfully his heart plummeting to the pit of his stomach. Trying to find the right way to say what needed saying the kit's uncle let out a half stifled sob as the reality of it all sunk in. "Impetuoua-" he began again with a grimace. Reminding himself that he needed to be strong, for everyone Munkustrap still could not bring himself to bare her the news, swallowing a hard lump amber eyes flaring with pain and scarcely pent rage he forced himself to continue. "She's in a bad way, a really bad way."

Balurina's fur stood on end as her sister came to comfort her, neither a stranger to the Hidden Paw's sadistic and malicious nature. The two clung to one another muttering encouraging and comforting things Munkus knew would be of no help in a moment's time. His thoughts were sharply severed by a forlorn cry.

"Munkustrap!" came the torn voice from somewhere within the fog bank. Guilt washed over the striped cat who quickly rushed to aid Mistoffelees, neglected for a time with the commotion and chaos of the return.

The black and white stood defeated, legs quaking beneath him, the salty remains of long dried sorrow staining his fur. In his arms lay Exotica, the tattered remains of a human quilt making do for her improvised shroud. She, Mistoffelees' unofficiated intended and future mate, was already gone by the time they'd found where Macavity had taken the absconded members, an abandoned and dilapidated tenant building with broken out windows mold and leaf litter strewn inside. Her body twisted, limbs mangled Exotica had been discarded amongst a heap of rubbish with several other feline corpses of names and places unknown.

Munkustrap moved to help his youngest brother, the illegitimate child of his family, but the tom shook his head. "I'm taking her home." he stated, a tremor moving through him."Please," the youth said. "Just let me be alone."

Munkus watched him leave, exhaustion settling deep within his bones. He'd been Guardian for years accepting and living up to the responsibilities and expectations that came with the title, but being leader of the Jellicle Clan was far more difficult and taxing upon the soul than ever he could imagine, even more so now with such death and carnage looming over the Junkyard. Dazed and spiritually overcome he failed at first to register the cries of Bombalurina.

Turning in time he saw the ruddy queen stagger back relying on Demeter's strength to hold her aloft at the sight of her mate stepping into the clearing. Tugger was weathered, ears and tail held low, gaze focused only on his next footfall. He cradled an unmoving bundle protectivly in his arms, steadily flowing streams running down his face as he struggled and failed to hold himself together.

Munkustrap, hands clenched into fists remained where he was, shook with a consuming hatred and anguish as the queens made their way to the last of the stragglers. The dark leopard coated tom as he collapsed to the ground, burying his face in the bundle and wept freely.

"I'm going to kill him!" Tugger wailed lamentingly as he rocked back and forth. "I'm going to kill him!"

-

Author's Note:

Impetuoua's name is pronounced like the word impetuous if you dropped the S


	2. Then

Impetuoua's name suited her well. The young vivacious kitten was a laughing, loving bundle of energy that kept her parents, the notorious couple of Bombalurina and Rum Tum Tugger forever on their toes. With wide amber eyes, a deep ruby coat, and sporadic leopard spots she had inherited the best features of both parents.

Currently balled between them, tiny hands curled against her mouth, the kit slept peacefully and sound as the early morning light began filtering in from the outside. The little gaps, and nooks possessed by the discarded human items they'd build their home of gave the streams and arcs of illumination pathways inside. Their home was strong, and well constructed. Where the Jellicels dwelled in many various structures throughout the Yard, such as abandoned vehicles, or hollowed out stoves, Tugger like many family cats chose to make a roomier den of his own within a peak of what humanity deemed refuse and unwanted.

Wooden beams, compressed cardboard boxes, and all manner of metallic scraps built up the strong, reliable walls and roofing overhead. With a natural dirt floor under foot, and many comforts and amenities to make up the furniture within, their home couldn't have been more prefect for the trio. Even now as the sun trekked higher, spilling in more and more of its light an arrangement of colored glass bottles pooled it all together before throwing out the many hued rays of luminescence which filled the bedroom with a warm rosy glow, stirring the family towards an easy awakening.

Flipping and tumbling about Impetuoua seemed predestined to forever be a morning cat. Her mind fading away from the realm of dreams and into the world of wakefulness she rubbed a palm lazily against twitching whiskers. As awareness sunk in the kit stretched, hands over head, tail thumping against her mother's leg before rolling onto her back and opening her eyes. She glanced about, comforted by the familiarity that met her gaze, and, as she did every morning reached up and gently tried to catch the morning sunlight, watching as the colors changed and danced over her fingers as they wiggled back and forth in the air. 

Growing bored after a time, but still trying to puzzle out how her uncle Mistoffelees did it, the kit began inching her way up the bed."Daddy," she whispered, large eyes intent and purposeful. "Hey, daddy!" 

Rum Tum Tugger stirred groaning with displeasure and a longing for the days when his mornings didn't begin until after noon. Pulling a pillow over his head, and muffling his daughter's voice the tom flipped over.

Bombalurina who was always the first parent to regain themselves in the morning smiled from where she lay, listening to her daughter's persistent attempts to garner her father's attention. Reaching out with a foot that seemed perpetually cold from the moment she crawled into bed the queen nudged her husband's leg which recoiled quickly, accompanied but an exaggerated moan. 

"She's talking to you." the female mumbled with a back arching stretch that ran all the way down to her toes. 

Encouraged with her mother's backing and support the kitten moved closer clamouring over her father's comparatively sizable form Impetuoua was determined to succeed even if Tugger wasn't yet ready to deal the the day. Poking her head under the pillow and grinning with a fond mischievousness she pressed forward until their noses touched.

"Daddy," she whispered rubbing her tiny nose to his. "Daddy, wake up." 

Clenching his jaw so as not to give himself away Rum Tum Tugger feigned sleep, no matter how much he wanted to smile, and kiss her cute little snoot. Discouraged at the lack of response Impetuoua ducked out from under the pillow, leaving her father alone in his goose down sanctuary.

"It's ok," Bombalurina yawned patting a space on the bed near where she sat running fingers through her coat. Obediently the kit climbed back over the furry speed bump and plopped down for her morning grooming.

"Daddy won't wake up." the four year old complained, picking at stray threads in the blanket as she did.

"Hmm," her mother mused thoughtfully as she smoothed the white band at the back of Impetuoua's neck. It ran down into a chest patch that mirrored her own, but the fur was a bit longer, shaggier and with the small ruff around the kitten's neck it was more akin to her father's mane in length and texture, if not color. "Did you try kissing him?" she asked. "Kisses usually do the trick when someone won't wake up." the queen explained patiently.

Eyes bright and grin wide the kit hurried to try this new theory, pulling the pillow away and smacking her lips against Tugger's stripey cheek with gusto. His eyelids fluttered briefly, then nothing. Crestfallen Impetuoua slunk back to her mother. Suddenly with a great uproar Rum Tum Tugger leaped up scooping the girl into his arms tickling her tummy and laughing with a manic sense of victory as she squirmed and giggled.

"I've got you now my little Imp!" the tom shouted in between imaginary bites of his daughter's torso.

The two battled back and forth for a time before with an exasperated sigh Tugger fell back in defeat, his head landing neatly in his wife's lap. "Good morning beautiful." he smiled, burgundy eyes deep with love and adoration for the queen.

Looking down at him with the same level of devotion Bombalurina cocked her head to one side mirroring his expression. "Good morning my love." she cooed picking a bit of lint from his coat as their child tore the once well made bed apart, pillows and sheets splaying out across the floor in her excitement.

The husband and wife found a loving peace among the chaos, Tugger closing his eyes and treasuring the caress of Balurina's fingers sliding through the fur of his chest as she groomed him.

"I kissed a boy." their little girl announced with a simplistic pride as if just remembering a great accomplishment that had until now gone unnoticed. This jarred both parents out of the quiet space they'd found for themselves.

"What?" the tom snapped, sitting as he turned towards the kit with a mix of shock and parental outrage. Impetuoua's ears fell immediately, folding tightly against her scalp. She hadn't known it was anything bad.

"You aren't in any trouble." her mother was quick to assure. "Just tell us what happened."

The kitten looked between them shamefully before Bombalurina pulled her over and settling an arm about her shoulders, stroking the fur behind one ear. "It was a game." the kitten murmured sadly before making a spinning motion with her hand. "With a bottle."

"Who all was playing it?" Tugger asked straining to keep the sharpness and frustration from his tone. Impetuoua shrugged. Taking hold of her foot he gave it a shake. "Tell me." he proded.

"Etcy, Victoria, and Electra." the tiny queen confessed, naming her co-conspirators. "I don't remember the boys' names."

"Were they from the visiting tribe?" Balurina followed up. Impetuoua nodded grimly. "Now my dear, where was this kiss?"

"In the Yard." the child replied earnestly. She was still just young enough to have only vague ideas regarding time and place.

"No," her mother smiled kindly. "Where on the boy?" 

Impetuoua touched her cheek sorrowfully, adding that, "He pretended to die, it wasn't nice." Only to be surprised by the thrill of her mother's laugher.

"It isn't funny," Rum Tum Tugger bit out defensively. "That's my daughter!"

Bombalurina looked at him, eyes softening, "Oh, baby." she grinned watching him. There was something about seeing how protective Tugger was of her and their little Imp, and how much the small, insignificant things made him fret that warmed her through to the very core. It was something that made her love for him grow and not only blossom, but deepen the roots at the foundation of their relationship as well.

"I just hope you remember that I was once someone's daughter too, from time to time." she commented, her gaze becoming amorous as she crawled towards him on hands and knees.

Tugger, tail beating against the bed in irritation, ignored the first nibblings on his ear. Conceding, after a while he turned to kiss his mate passionately, grateful for her love and support. Impetuoua threw herself to one side, gagging and gasping uncontrollably, hands wrapped about the front of her throat dramatically as she kicked her legs.

"You know," said Tugger during a break between her parents lips. "If you'd sleep in your own room, you wouldn't have to see us kiss." Impetuoua, who chose to ignore him, went right on dying, making her father laugh, the tension from seconds earlier fizzling to a stop.

Balurina raised a coy brow at him a smile twisting on her face. "If she slept in her own room we'd have another little bed-warmer to contend with by now." the queen observed, giving him a look that all but insured that the couple would soon be arranging a sleep over for their kit.

"Ah," commented Tugger kissing his wife again. "But they would be too young to care."

After such a lazy start to the morning, the family began the day in earnest with Balurina arranging breakfast while Tugger was delegated to re-cleaning the bedroom as penance for his role as chief instigator in its destruction. Impetuoua divided her time helping each of them, which in reality meant disrupting past work, and testing their patience.

When they'd finished with breakfast Bombalurina went to speak with Jellylorum at her husband's behest. As Etcetera's mother she was the most certain of places to go regarding the game of spin the bottle, especially given that the tabby kit had been left in charge of the younger feline when the trouble had ensued.

Arriving with a basket of gifts, soft foods and cheeses mostly the red queen gave a gentle knock on the door. Jelly, a worn look to her eyes and a lock of fur clinging to her cheek in an odd angle answered, "Hello Bombalurina," she smiled with a characteristic warmth, regardless of whatever might be going on inside. "Come in, come in." she ushered then.

Hugs and welcomes were exchanged before a small amount of guilt could worm it's way into Balurina's heart. Sometimes when life was perfect for one person it was easy for them to forget the trials of others, and that was had happened here. Three children, one with a coming of age ceremony tonight and an ailing father all hoped would be chosen tonight the widow Jellylorum and her hands decidedly full.

"I brought you some things," Bombalurina smiled displaying the basket as she discretely eyes the clutter and disorganization of the home.

Jellylorum smiled as she breathed in the homey smells, "Roquefort, dad's favorite, thank you!" she beamed relieving her friend's arm of the weighty goods.

"How is Gus?" the guest asked with a sobering look. The theater cat had taken a bad fall two months ago, and from there had quickly deteriorated both body and mind in ways that alarmed and bewildered everyone around him.

"He's, he's good," Jelly said, tone pinched. "He's resting now, but he's doing better."

Bombalurina followed Jelly into the kitchen where she was offered a seat, and a cup of tea. The queens looked at each other for a long moment before Balurina came clean. "I actually had some alterior motives behind coming here today. Tugger asked me too." Jelly quirked a brow at the younger female as she sipped from her cup.

The red queen sighed, "Apparently some of our female kits were playing a game of spin the bottle with some Toriqyle boys the other day while Etcy was kitsitting."

"Mmm," Jelly nodded hurrying to clear her mouth. "I know, and if it wasn't Pounce's big night she wouldn't be going to the Ball."

"Don't be too hard on her, I'm sure you did something similar at her age, Everlasting Cat knows I did!" The females chuckled fondly before Balurina asked, "So how did you find out?"

Jellylorum shrugged, "They were excluding Jemima because they were afraid she tell on them, well guess what happened?"

"She told." Bombalurina smiled.

"She told." the tabby and white confirmed. "So, how'd Rum Tum react?"

"Exactly how you'd expect." she shrugged, a fond upturn playing on her lips. Her husband and officially declared it a daddy-daughter day since Balurina would be staying home with the kitten tonight, and the two were in the midst of planning activities when she'd left the house.

"Men," the older queen laughed. "If little Pet was a boy he'd be beaming with pride!" This rather accurate observation saw the two struck with a fit of giggles. 

Once the calamity died down Bombalurina looked at Jelly long an hard with an unwavering gaze that was part sympathetic, part admiration. "It's going to be a big night tonight," she commented nonchalantly as she stood smoothing the fur on her arms. "And we're going to need it perfect. So, tell me what I can do to help."

-

Author's Note:

In my story there are four major cat clans: The Jellicles who this story is about. Macavity's clan which I'm not sure will really have a name. The Rudunner clan and the Toriqyle.

The Rudunner are the most hardy, wild, and rural clan. They dwell in an overgrown, abandoned lot somewhere just north of the Yard and are headed by an wiry dusky orange queen named Grinmalt. They allow the Jellicles hunting rights in their fields save during winter or "the lean times" as the Rudunner call it, in exchange for trade and commerce. They are an individually established tribe and have no relation to the Jellicles.

The Toriqyle are a savvy, adaptable, and nomadic tribe that takes pilgrimage from the city into the woods each year on a journey that coincides with the Jellicle Ball, a remnant of their once shared history before the divide. This tribe is headed by a sleak black tom named Script. The Toriqyle are also an off shoot of the Jellicle line having followed their religious prophet Tor and creating the Toricle tribe, which over time has evolved to be written as Toriqyle though the pronunciation remains the same. They are given lodging in the Yard during their time of pilgrimage and are welcome by most during their regular travels as well. They tend to bring great influxes of goods and far spread news given their caravan like lifestyle.

I'm not really sure how large of a role the Rudunner and Toriqyles will play in this story but as I've already made reference to one of the tribes, I felt the need to share.


	3. Now

There was a hollowed tension in the home as if it were trapped in the eye of a raging storm. Munkustrap had asked Demeter to take Jemima and leave for the evening, shielding his daughter from what pain and dark knowledge he could. It was a cruel request seeing as it meant hampering any one of the many already broken and suffering families with the task of hosting them, but one he'd felt necessary. In the end the pair had gone to Jenny's, Demeter agreeing to watch Victoria for her. Once he'd seen them safely on their way Munkustrap had only a few moments to himself before the council arrived and set about arranging the chairs.

Where his father had once ruled through his own indomitable force of will, his wisdom, compassion, and spirituality seeing him and his people through, Munkus couldn't do it alone. As much as he hated admitting it, he wasn't anything like his father at all, despite what Old Deuteronomy had claimed to see in him. Spiteful, though he tried not to be, the silver tabby couldn't help but to feel his father had merely chosen the best of a rotting vine to succeed him. 

Capable and willing in the role of Guardian and Protectorate of the Yard Munkus had been fortunate enough to, for a time, protect the Tribe and had won every territory dispute raised. He was skilled at maintaining the peace as well, a natural born diplomat, but there were other areas, areas he felt were more crucial to the role of Jellicle Leader that he lacked in greatly. Faith being of chief concern. 

Faith had always been of great difficulty for the man, a tenuous concept at best despite Deuteronomy's fervor. Now with him gone, political power, and religious leadership rested in Munkustrap's hands alone. It was a devious act of divine sadism and humor that when the feline had never felt more distant from the Everlasting, going so far as damning him in his private moments, that he was meant to be at his most pious.

Utterly spent with deep fatigue settling in body, mind, and soul as he tried to shoulder a mantel many times too large for him, Munuks struggled to keep his footing. He had just been battling the welling pressure of tears behind his eyes when the first trepidatious knock was heard just outside his den. This was to be the only real time his board had met since naming them, and the gathering would be one to discuss and if need be vote upon the treacherous matters at hand, though final decision ultimately rested with him. Shortly after letting Alonzo in, Skimble shuffled to the door, and slowly the numbers grew until all seven members were present.

Settling down in the living room Munkus looked around the seemingly large, barren space. These cats were those he'd chosen to build his backbone out of, cats he felt he could trust when making hard choices, or could steer him clear of mistakes when blinded by emotion. This was the closest the Jellicles had ever come to a democracy and already the tabby felt like it was doomed to fail. They were tired, all of them, haggard by the events that seemed distant memory, but was yet still fresh and evident throughout the Yard. 

Munkustrap's gaze fell onto Coricopat who stared blankly at the floor, before shifting towards Alonzo who was trying to hold himself high but couldn't quite seem to manage. As the only returnees he'd enlisted for the counsel the tom feared they wouldn't be able to cope.

"Well," Munkus began weakly, "I'd like to thank you all for coming here this evening. I know that I'm taking many of you away from family and loved ones who sorely need you, but I am grateful that you've come all the same."

Low murmurations circled through the six other cats who nodded and mumbled their replies. The leader licked his lips nervously, guilt and responsibility for what had happened renewing itself in the face of such grim company. He'd apologized to the entirety of the clan upon returning their lost members only to be met with a firm denial of any wrong doing on his part. Yet still the need to voice how sincerely remorseful he was for his failure to protect any of them remained.

Shaking loose the thoughts, he pressed on, "I understand that nothing like this has taken place in the Yard before, a Leader's decision has always been law, but I cannot face this alone, not in a time of such crisis, which is why you have been assembled. You are here to aid me, to advise me, and to steer me in the direction my father would have wanted."

A second round of murmured agreement was cut short by Alonzo's clear, conviction filled voice, "Your word is law Munkustrap. We will obey you, whatever your command, but I believe I speak for all of us when I say we are honored for the privilege nonetheless." All eyes turned to him, the black and white had always been dutiful and even formal when needed, but this seemed a little much for the time being.

"Thank you, Alonzo." Munkus smiled struggling against the sensation that he was growing too large for his fur, the tightening pressure of anxiety and authority constricting about him. "Rebuilding has already begun, and word has arrived that Asparagus, Jellylorum's brother, will be arriving soon to lend a hand."

"Now," he sighed looking pointedly at the cats to whom he spoke. "As I understand it, Skimble, you've been working with Mungojerrie on resecuring the fence."

The orange and calico toms eyed one another before the railway cat, who was adjusting his sling, managed a reply, "Yes, we've patched all the holes we could find, enlisting help along the way. Plato and Tumblebrutus have made themselves indispensable in this respect."

"We've also looped fresh barbed wire, around the top, and sand-bagged the base." Mungo added. "But-" he started, passing looks with his defense counterpart.

"'But' what?" Munkus wanted to know.

"But we don't think that's enough." Skimbleshanks bit out, the fur along the nape of his neck rising with aggravation.

"That's exactly why you're here, to share your feelings, your ideas," Munkustrap went on to explain looking hopefully at each individual who made up the circle he was seated among. "What more should we be doing?"

"We should kill him." Rum Tum Tugger who had sat head in his hands since arriving cut in with dark menace to his tone. 

Though many had considered the notion, the blunt clarity with which the dark coated tom spoke had shocked them all.

"Tugger, I understand what you must be feeling, but you have to know that, that is just not an option, and not a possibility I'm willing to entertain." the Leader spoke. It was the longest string of words passed between them in some time as he diplomatically tried to smooth things over, regardless of how his own mind raced at the idea.

"Don't you dare patronize me," his brother barked hotly. "You're the one meant to protect us, so start doing your job!"

"We can't just kill Macavity!" Munkustrap shouted fending off the urge to bare claws, confronted by Tugger's biting remark and his own sense of inadequacy.

"And why not? Why does it seem like I'm the only one willing to do what's nessacary, willing to do what's right?" Tugger bellowed, his voice harsh and loud in the confines of Munkustrap's living room. Looking around it was clear that sides were already being taken, with the fearful holding middle ground, desiring for blood and vengeance, but not at the weighty price defeat could mean.

"You cannot murder him." the tabby gritted out between his teeth, unable to find valid reasoning behind his own words, other than the fact that Deuteronomy would have never wanted this. Trapped by the shackles of responsibility while spurred with a lust for vendetta his soul was a torrent, morality and longed for retribution pulling him at opposite ends he truly felt in the seat of his heart that going after Macavity was, if not necessarily wrong, just wasn't worth the risk.

"It wouldn't be murder, it would be justice." Tugger growled as Jenny, from her seat beside him reached a hand to touch his forearm, whispering calming words as the males locked eyes threateningly, but he railed on. "It's been nearly a week and you've still to do anything! He tortured the cats he took Munkus. Your number two will never fight again, might as well releave him of duty right now," he spat, arms waving about the room wildly. Alonzo bristled sharply but said nothing. 

"Cassandra is maimed, Pouncival won't even talk about what happened, what was done to him, and Cori, do you care to share your dealings with my brother, hmm?" Rum Tum Tugger asked taking the to his feet. "What, exactly did The Hidden Paw do to you and your sister?" he slurred taking the other tom who gaped up at him in wide eyed horror, by surprise.

"Sit down, Tugger, you're drunk." Munkustrap hissed angrily.

"Of course I'm drunk!" Tugger bellowed turning towards the speaker. "He raped her Munuks. He raped my little girl and Everlasting Cat knows what else he did to her! She was torn and bleeding when we found her, or had you forgotten that?" he asked, his voice breaking as tears traced somber lines in his fur as he spoke of Impetuoua, who had never in her life seemed smaller or more fragile. "She won't talk to me, I can't even be in the same room as her or she bursts into violent, hysterical fits." Tugger sobbed lamenting his daughter's current state. "She won't even let Balurina hold her, screams whenever she touches her..."

Jenny was on her feet now too, pulling Tugger's head down until it rested on her shoulder, running a comforting hand through the fur of his head as though he were a fretful kit unsettled by a thunderstorm. "It's going to be alright," she whispered trying to ease the unsteady tom back to his chair.

All around him Munkustrap could sense a shift in alliances as each cat envisioned the Tribe's youngest member so shattered and beyond repair, before reflecting upon their own families and selves. Hampered by his personal fears and vulnerability the tabby believed that revenge would only lead to the Jellicles' downfall and bloody ruination, his heart hammering deeply in his skull where the blood rushed as he watched fissures form in his fledgling council.

"We should have killed him years ago, Munkus and you know it." Rum Tum Tugger muttered tearily into Jennyanydotts' shoulder, though he was still loud enough to be heard. "Hell, dad should have killed him, after what he did to Violetta."

Electricity coursed through the Jellicle Leader at mention of a name he had thought never to hear of again. "Macavity never did anything to Violetta." Munkustrap began, the taste of his step-sister's name metallic and sharp on his tongue.

Pushing the gentle queen away Tugger failed to stifle a laugh of sheer disbelief. "What, do you think happened to her Munk? She just went out to play one day and decided not to come home? That bastard killed her, and dad, he couldn't handle it, looked the other way, smacked me around whenever I started asking questions-"

"Dad never hit you!" the silver tabby roared quick to his departed father's defense. Closing the gap between them his tail thrashing and eyes frenzied Munkustrap held firm to what he told himself he remembered. Toms hurriedly scrambled to prevent any fighting that might occur, their hands pulling or pushing the would be combatants towards their respective seats words of reason falling upon deaf ears. 

"Didn't he though," Tugger went on with a sob, his breath rank. "With mom long dead, Violetta gone, Bella driven near mad by it, all the while Macavity was manifesting powers, killing things just for the Hell of it? What do you actually remember about growing up?" he snapped. "And how much of it is what Dad told you to keep you complacent? Because honestly even he barley survived any of it. Why else do you think you and I wound up so fucked?"

"He's right," Skimble confirmed, sidestepping family history he knew nothing about and speaking only of what should be done now. "Macavity deserves nothing short of death."

"I agree." Mungojerrie entoned hurriedly.

Munkustrap looked at them as they flanked Tugger trying to intervene in anticipation of a brawl. The three made up a solid third of his advisory board and they were so readily set against him. There was a moment of cold hostility between the siblings before Munkustrap spoke. 

"I have already given my piece. I will not condone making war upon Macavity, nor will I tolerate any plots against my wishes in an attempt to do so." he explained tone even and commanding as he held Tugger's gaze. "This is a time of recovery, we should focus on rebuilding and maintaining the lives we were gifted with by the Everlasting." Munkustrap winced at his own words, this was far from a time for jubilation but he had to let the others know he was strong enough to lead them in all ways, even if he felt scarcely capable of waking in the morning.

"You will go home to your family Tugger, that is an order." the Jellicle leader demanded then of his brother, his gaze steely and leaving no room for argument. 

There was no warning, the leopard spotted cat had leapt upon his ruler before anyone could react, and they brothers were at one another's throats in a heartbeat. With angry hissing and yowls they scuffled, stumbling into bystanders who lacked the mobility to get clear of the fray. Fists and claws flying the pair fell into furniture and knocked valuables from above the fireplace before anyone could manage to separate them.

Munkustrap stood, bleeding from a broken nose and several scratches, while Tugger, disoriented with his surroundings floundered on the floor trying to rise, a hand held his side. "Rum Tum Tugger," the tabby began pulling himself to his full height. "I am placing you under house arrest. Alonzo, Mungojerrie," he called tone harsh as he named the second feline. Though the calico's aligence might stand with Tugger with regards to what should be done about Macavity, Munkustrap was still his commander and he wanted him reminded of that. "Escort this cat home, and see to it that he stays there." 

Tugger looked bitterly at the brother who's self control and respected position he was once so jealous of, a slow to rise fear filling him up. How could Munkustrap be doing this to him? Didn't he know that there was no place worse, more harrowing in all the world for Tugger to be, than home?

-

Author's Note:

As much as for my own benefit as for you readers I'm going to list the council members here:

Munkustrap, Rum Tum Tugger, Jennyanydots, Skimbleshanks, Mungojerrie, Coricopat, and Alonzo.


	4. Then

The Yard was alive with light and energy as the Jellicle Tribe of cats prepared, and made ready for their Ball. It was not only their most holy night, a night of reincarnation, but was also a time for joyous celebration and thanks giving. Etcetera bounced on her toes, watching eagerly from the window as her friends raced off in the waning twilight to where everyone was meant to gather in the coming hours. 

Her closest friend Victoria, who had skirted her aunt's watchful gaze, hurried with graceful leaps and bounds after the older Plato whose ginger points were highlighted in the last gleaming rays of sunlight. The female kits made eye contact through the slightly warped glass, sharing a brief, excited wave. Etcy who continued to watch gave a laugh when the pursued tom turned unexpectedly and grabbed the white queen by the waist spinning and her through the air.

"Get away from there, you're grounded, remember?" Tumblebrutus called with a cool command from where he arranged the chair cushions.

Etcetera's joy for her friend, and hopeful pondering about sneaking out shattered, she turned to her eldest brother, "Tumble, couldn't I just go catch up with Vicky and-"

"No." the patched tom cut in decisively. "You and Victoria have caused enough trouble as it is, and we don't need anymore."

"But Plato's with her, he could watch us!" she went on persistently, desperate to a part of things rather than to be left behind in a house that felt suffocating, the grim reality of age and death brought to a vivid clarity in her grandfather's face. "I mean, he's your friend, you trust Plato right?"

The tom gave a laugh as he worked, "About as far as I can throw him, but the answer is still no."

Her fur raising and eyes alight the little queen turned on him, "Brute!" she shouted, a cruel nickname she and Pouncival had given him whenever they felt he was being mean or unfair.

"Yup," Tumble nodded sarcasm flaring. "That's me!"

Life had been fairly difficult on the family in recent months, with Gus' condition grim to say the least, in fighting broke out amongst his grandchildren almost daily. After he'd finished readying things and offering his sister a final hard look, Tumblebrutus walked down the short hall and into Gus' room. He wouldn't let on, but seeing the frail tom as he was frightened him. Even now as he rested eyes closed, breathing in soft shallow gasps it was easy to believe him already gone, a cold chill filling the room at the thought.

Tumble, who could remember a time before all of this, back when his mother was happy and his father was alive did everything he could to shoulder as much of the burden as possible. He'd been fully initiated two years ago, and should have been living on his own since, perhaps even finding a mate, but he'd stayed out of a sense of responsibility to his mother. Now, with this on top of it, he couldn't help but to feel embittered by the situation. Regardless, he was good at hiding it, but really, much of the time Tumble wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else, and living his own life without the need to care for others.

Damning himself with the particular self loathing which typically accompanied this type of altruism the tom slid his hands underneath his grandfather's slumbering form, and lifted. Tumblebrutus' stomach knotted almost immediately. More than the scent of stale urine he'd exposed by moving him, the fact that Gus hardly weighed anything anymore, feeling less like a cat and more like a bunch of sticks wrapped in a loose bundle of fur disturbed him greatly. Carrying the elderly feline to the living room his lack of response was beginning to get worrisome, when, without warning the grey cat jolted.

"Easy granddad, it's just me, Tumble." he assured looking into the confused, cloudy eyes that wondered up at him.

"Tumble?" Gus whispered his voice thin and distant, before there was a brief spark of recognition, and a smile to accompany it. Gus reached out a trembling hand and caressed the side of the youth's face lovingly.

After being settled into his seat near the fireplace Gus looked about himself, blinking in a particular way the kits now knew to mean that he was having trouble remembering or understanding something, but he seemed content enough and sat quietly for some time. It felt almost predestined that Gus would be chosen for the Layer this year, a thing his family sorely hoped for, as it was well apparent that this year was to be his final Ball. This was the fearful truth they'd lived with for two months now, and the possibility of reincarnation was the only light any could find at the end of the tunnel.

Disrupting the silence, save for the gentle crackle of the fire in its hearth Pouncival entered the living room, "How do I look?" he asked self consciously smoothing his fur, before his face fell in disappointment. "Where's mom?" he questioned Etcy who still lingered by the window.

"She needed some time to herself so I sent her on ahead." Tumblebrutus explained as he re-emerged with the soiled bedding. "You and Etcy are staying here with me and Gus until it's time."

Pouncival was crestfallen, "But I- She said-"

"She was crying Pounce!" Tumble snapped wishing his brother would just grow up already. "Think about it, she might lose her father tonight."

"Don't say that!" the boy barked angrily back.

"I know you!" Gus interrupted with a high, happy thrill after eyeing his youngest grandsons for several moments. "You're the new kid, gonna take over as Carbucketty aren't you?" The arguing died down immediately.

"Umm, yeah." Pouncival smiled afraid to contradict the reality the old cat currently inhabited.

"Well, you've certainly got your work cut out for you!" Gus laughed motioning the tom over. Quietly the kit sat on the floor beside him, head resting against the elder's good leg, relishing the little moments while he still could.

Etcetera ambled in with a disgruntled air then, intent on confronting her brother when Gus spotted her. "Helena, my best girl!" he beamed brightly. "How about you come give us a kiss, hm?" he asked with a wry grin.

Tumble turned just in time to see his sister's fur flare, "My name is Etcetera." she gritted out.

"Helena, baby?" the theater cat tried, patting his knee with a quizzical look. "Come, what's the matter?"

"I'm not grandma!" the little queen bellowed shoving her way passed Tumble, down the opposite hall and into her room where she slammed the door, her brothers calling angrily after her.

Gus seemed to stall, hands wringing together with concern, a perplexed almost fearful look to his eyes as he tried to piece together what 'Helena' had just said, his mind unable to connect events and times anymore. He came out of it when Tumble laid a hand on his shoulder. "She, she must be sore with me." Gus muttered looking up at him. "Hey, you look like a sharp young man, could you go and have a talk with her? Maybe, maybe explain to her that, that Bristol queen meant nothing to me?" he rasped.

"Sure thing." Brutus nodded, confused himself, and slightly uncomfortable with this knowledge, never having pictured his grandparents with anyone other than each other but wanting nothing more than for his grandfather to be happy tonight.

It wasn't long before peace was restored to the house, the trio in the living room settling in together an easy lull falling over them. Tumblebrutus stirred himself from the doze he had slipped into after a while and walked to where Pounce sat teary eyed staring into the embers.

"Hey," he said nudging the kit with the back of his hand. "Come here."

With some melancholy the patched tabby got up, sparing a glance to the chair's occupant, but Gus slept peacefully. "Yeah?" he grumbled refusing to follow all the way outside, opting instead to rest against the doorway, stars and fat moon radiant above the brothers as they lingered on the porch.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry, for yelling at you earlier." Tumble started. "This isn't easy on any of us, but it has to be Hell on you, I mean, this is supposed to be your special night, you're almost an adult now, and soon you'll be getting initiated, become a true Jellicle." The cat paused with a remorseful sigh. "And none of this seems fair does it?"

"No." Pounce whispered.

Tumble looped an arm around his sagging shoulders. "Are you nervous?" he questioned, Pouncival nodded. "I was too, you just have to remember that this dance, or song, or whatever it is you're planning to do, has to come from inside. This is your introduction to the Tribe, explaining to everyone who you are-"

"But everyone knows who I am!" the kit protested, cutting Brutus off.

"Yeah, but not like this." Tumble intoned a fond smile coming to play on his lips. "Don't worry though, it doesn't have to be perfect, it hardly ever is anyway. When I came of age I hadn't thought of a single thing to do or say when suddenly everyone was looking at me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt, then Old Deuteronomy looked at me and smiled, and I dunno I felt better. Then, just for no reason at all really I just started racing around the clearing jumping, rolling, flipping, going crazy, it wasn't really much of a dance to tell you the truth, but it was me, one hundered percent, and when I was done, I was tired but alive." A reminiscent twinkle in his gaze the tom went on as he watched his brother's excitement grow. "Then everyone congratulated me, and Deuteronomy gave me his blessing, Tugger-" a laugh ripped itself loose. "Tugger was helpful enough to suggest an exorcism!"

"Really?" Pouncival gaped in disbelief.

"Really. So don't worry so much about what you're going to do, or how you look. Just be yourself and the Tribe will love you." Tumble assured looking at him with pride before pulling the lad into an embrace. "Just to be clear," he mumbled into the fur at the top of Pounce's head after a minute. "This right here is a man hug, nothing sissy about it, got that?"

Pouncival laughed pushing away. They could fight like no one would believe, but really, he couldn't imagine life without his big brother. "Got it." he agreed.

The wind shifted then, and the harsh, raw odor of smoke drifted passed Tumble's nose. "Do you smell that?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's just the fireplace."

"Uh-uh," a contemplative Tumblebrutus said shaking his head. Scaling up the side of the den the older cat scanned the horizon, and froze in terror, fur bristling. A harsh red-orange light flickered in the distance, wavering finger like tendrils reaching high as if the blaze meant to scorch the heavens themselves.

"What is it?" Pounce called up from where he stood on the porch.

It took Tumble a moment to respond, fixated on the eerily beautiful destruction he managed a half conscious response, "The Yard's on fire." Shaking himself firmly the tom leaped down. "The Yard's on fire!" he repeated with more urgency. "Stay here so you can get granddad out if you have to, I've got to go help." he instructed grabbing the boy by the shoulders and snapping what shock out of him he could.

The brown and white male had only just made it passed his house when Bombalurina opened her front door just down the road. 

"Tumble, what's going on?" she yelled to be heard.

"Fire, big one!" he called in desperation as other cats rushed by in the direction of the blaze.

The queen hesitated only a moment before shouting to Pouncival, "Impetuoua is sleeping, send Etcy over." and taking to her heels.

Pouncival's heart roared in his ears as he turned numb with fright back into the house. "What's all the shouting about?" an irritated young queen snapped as she walked into the room. It took the tom a few moments to reply.

"There's a fire, Bombalurina needs you to watch the baby." he said summarizing everything and simply and bluntly as he could.

Etcetera who was still irate with the evening's outcome, and didn't feel ready to be doing favors for anyone, especially not someone she felt got her in trouble opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but stopped. She stood wide eyed, a tremble running through her, gaze fixed to a space somewhere behind Pouncival. At last she managed a weak croak, "Pounce..."

Brow furrowed he turned. There, looming in the doorway it's fur, a slick, greasy black, eyes blood red, stood an unnaturally large rat. On instinct Pouncival grabbed Etcetera and moved her behind him, backing up deeper and deeper into the room and the creature advanced on them, yellow teeth exposed in an unnerving grin.

"Get away from us!" Pounce howled, exposing claws and summoning a flightly courage.

"Oh," came the rat's voice, oily as his fur. "Please boy, do try something. It would make my job so much more interesting."

There was a brief second of tension before the beast lunged shattering it like glass. Etcetera gave a splitting scream as the rat took Pouncival to the floor, knocking her over in the process. Everything was a maddening blur of action and reaction, every one of the kittens' thoughts a twisting blur of disarray. The vile rodent straddled the male kit's waist taking fistfuls of fur he slammed the boy's head once, twice, three times against the floorboards for good measure, the child have gone limp after only the first vicious impact.

"Well, then" the rat sneered at the light tabby queen. "I guess that leaves just us, girl."

He had been creeping forward when, with a mix of stark clarity, self realization, and a subtle disjointment of the body, Gus having seen the attack rose and staggered to his feet rage burning through him. "Unhand my grandchildren!" he hissed sharply, raking claws down the monster's back.

The creature shrieked with pain and fury turning on him. With one arm the rat brought him down, in a crushing blow, coming to kneel on the cat's frail gasping chest. Without so much as a word he hunched down, a hand behind Gus' head pulling it upward, his sharp blade like teeth cutting and tearing away. Dropped the once venerable feline he turned back to the kitten licking the blood from his lips with a grim satisfaction.

Gus tried vainly to call after them, watching as the hideous thing drug Poincival behind him, an ally shouldering Etcetera who screamed and fought, tiny hands reaching for the dying elder. Trying to rise Gus flailed incompetently, before his hand found the wound. His throat a ragged mess of torn ligaments and tissues, blood bubbling from it, leaking down the front of his chest and polluting the ground there was absolutely nothing Gus could do for them.

His vision hazy as he surveyed what horrors he could through the opened door, Gus witnessed rats tearing friends and neighbors from their homes, burning and razing as they went. Weaping he watched as his own grandchildren were carried out of sight, fingers caressing tattered muscle and tracing the rigid pipe that was his trachea. It hurt, but not nearly as horrifically as one would have thought. Still fingering the area as his mind failed to fully comprehend the extent of the damage Gus gagged and swallowed, overcome with an urge to cough as blood slowly filled his lungs, but lacked the strength to do so, an iron tang filling his nostrils.

As his vision dimmed and body began to convulse in the throws of drowning, Gus could not help but cry silent tears and watch everything play out like a cruel scene. And what a scene it was, every player doing their part, each line given as though rehearsed for months, not a soul missed their mark. His consciousness wavering in his last moments the tom recalled with a bitter irony his most favored role. Even then, he knew, Firefrorefiddle the Fiend of the Fell could never have been so cruel...


	5. Chapter 5

A warm joy spreading throughout him, Old Deuteronomy came to rest on the truck of the car commonly taken to be Munkustrap's. His whole Tribe was out and about tonight, the early arrivals being mostly comprised of the young, their exuberance expounding as they froliced, leaped, and played flirtatious games of chase and chance, laughing whirling as they went. Rolling with mirth the old cat was contented to watch as others came upon the scene, each celebrating in his or her own way.

When his gaze happened upon a lustrous pair a of snowy figured off to one shadowed corner of the Yard Deuteronomy had to squint in effort to make out their doings. Plato, distinguished by his unique pallet was whispering, hands explorative as he backed the younger Victoria against a sheet of scrap metal. About the intervene the Jellicle Leader was proudly beaten to punch, as the silver tabby coat of his second eldest streaked across the clearing towards them. Escorting the brawdy youth, who did not look nearly as shameful as he should have, away. Munkustrap exchanged a weary glance with his father as they passed by, the young and impetuous queen who was far too eager to explore her still blossoming body following behind lamenting and arguing loudly.

Deuteronomy failed to suppress a laugh, brows raised in exasperation. He was doubtful that he and Munkus would have much time to speak privately this evening, each so consumed with their own busying tasks and duties, but the feline had made plans to see him afterwards. Deuteronomy had been feeling old lately, tired, and mentally fatigued. Though he knew it was not yet in the divine's plan to see him returned to the Layer Deuteronomy felt that they had come to the point where transferring some of his power and furthered responsibilities to the venerable guardian was at hand.

Munkustrap was ready, he felt. Deuteronomy had been training the boy for it ever since choosing him over Macavity. It was all just a matter of bringing up the conversation, and expressing his will to the tom he knew could become impassioned and outraged at the slightest provocation regarding the subject. No child liked to imagine the day when their parents would eventually leave them, and having lost his mother young made such discussions all the more difficult.

As he observed the goings on the elder watched as Rum Tum Tugger strutted with a confident airs across the Yard, catching the eye of many females, even if only in brief coy manners. Some of them didn't look anymore though, not glance since he became a father, and then there was Cassandra for whom the development seemed to make him even more appealing, having long ago acquired a taste for forbidden fruit. 

She walked close to him, their shoulders brushing, tail looping about his thigh in an attempt to seduce him as they passed one another. The leopard print tom's father watched as Tugger blinked waving away her new perfume with dramatized disgust and disdain. The abyssinian's eyes widened with anger and offense before she walked decidedly away. 

"What a mess!" Tugger scoffed in remarked to his father, motioning back towards the queen with a thumb before leaping up beside him. Where he had been quite the playboy during his bachelorhood he had settled down fully embracing a monogamy even Deuteronomy had failed to hold to. 

"Be nice." his father instructed as if he were still a kit. 

"Tell her." Tugger complained, falling easily into the role even as his eyes shown with mischief. "All Balurina and I really need though, it one night, just one good night to ourselves, and I've got miss lilac and roses pushing up against me." he went on with an exaggerated shiver.

Deuteronomy laughed, patting his son affectionately on the shoulder. "Fatherhood not quite working out like you had planned?" he asked. 

"No, it's great, really I love it, but it's the lack of," he stopped giving a moderately embarrassed laugh, before deciding to go all in. "Well, you know." Tugger said swinging his hips lasciviously, earning a laugh from his father.

"Well, I certainly wish you luck my son." Old Deuteronomy smiled.

Leaning back on the car eyes upon the midnight blue heavens where across it ran a glittering ribbon of stars, Tugger asked after a while, "So how did you ever get me to sleep in my own bed?"

"Hmm?" the older tom mused having lost himself briefly in thought. "Oh, well, to tell you the truth, I just waited for you to fall asleep and then I moved you in with your brother. After a while you sort of became Munkustrap's problem." he confessed.

"Still is my problem." the tabby cut in, climbing to sit at his father's other side.

"Shut up Munk, no one asked you." Tugger laughed kicking at him, and beginning a brief but boisterous tussle, their father caught in the middle.

"Enough, act your age!" Old Deuteronomy laughed, though he relished these happy moments and the strength of their family ties.

"Has Misto told you he's making a big announcement tonight?" Munkustrap asked then, assuming his dignified mannerisms.

"Yes, and she's a lovely child, they'll do well together." the grey cat observed of his youngest son and the queen he intended to be his mate, ease coming over the three of them as they waited for the Ball to begin in earnest.

In that moment, throughout all the Yard nothing seemed amiss, this night, just another of joy, and community, the cats blind to what horrors and tragedy was about to befall them. It was as the Leader and his family spoke and reminisced that the distant smell of smoke drifted into the clearing. Every cat stopped what they were doing, conversations falling silent, and dances left incomplete as they turned their noses to the wind, concern and dread overcoming them.

"Fire!" Alonzo's voice rang throughout the clearing. Having scrambled to the top of a large rubbish heap to survey his surroundings, the black and white leaped down, landing hard, but picked himself up anyway.

Soon the Yard was filled with life if a different nature, everyone in a panic, hurrying to do what they could, many rushing to the east where the homes lay and inferno raged. Deuteronomy watched with a sense of urgency, his sons leaping into action when through the mire emerged a startlingly familiar scent.

There was a sharp burning pain that penetrated deep into the old cat's body cavity, a shiver running down his spine as with a terribly slow dragging motion the pain trekked upwards. "Oh my wayward son, I am so sorry it has had to come to this." the tom heard himself murmur in a voice hollow a distant, the cold tang of adrenaline and dark fear flooding through him.

He stood glass eyed, and scarcely daring to breath for a moment, blood staining his dusty grey pelt from where the blade had run in course, pelvis to sternum. His gaze falling upon Munkustrap, the grave necessity of all that still needed to be said between them the Jellicle Leader took a weak hesitant step towards him, one hand reaching. The world twisting and spinning away from him Old Deuteronomy had fallen from the trunk of the car and lay prone before his vision came to a heady focus.

Red fur knotted in areas, stance wide his eldest son and rightful heir loomed over him from the top of the vehicle, wickedly curved blade dripping in hand. Deuteronomy looked tears welling in his eyes, at the wildness about his son, and viciously triumphant way he smiled down upon him, and immediately he remembered.

...The sun had been about to set, Violetta had been out all morning, the other two kits reporting they'd seen her last with Macavity. Deuteronomy hadn't been one to worry, the gift had passed through his line making random appearances from generation to generation since a time beyond memory, but Bella liked to fret. She claimed to see something outside of the ordinary in Macavity, something she claimed was "wrong" but as father and husband Deuteronomy refused to give or take any ground on the matter.

Calling after the lad who had recently come of age, while wondering if this was some sort of act of malice against his new stepmother, or some youthful act of rebellion from a child that had been growing more distant, more withdrawn as of late. Whatever the reasoning behind this disappearance he was relieved to get a response.

"You two have had Bella and I worried half out of our minds Mac," Deuteronomy laughed rounding a towering mount of wrecked cars and sheet metal. "What have you two been doing?"

Smiling the grey cat approached, his son grinning wildly at him. It was only as his gaze slid sideways that he caught sight of the twisted, crumpled heap of tissue and bones that had once been a kitten. A cry a of shock and horror ripped itself from the Leader's lips as he rushed to the petite body cradling her close to his chest searching for signs of life where he knew there could be none.

"What have you done?" Deuteronomy wept rocking the daughter he had, in no short time come to think of as his own. "What have you done?"

"I needed to know father." came the ruddy tom's steadfast reply. "I needed to know what I could do, how far I could take it."

In disbelief and still cradling Violetta her delicate calico coat burned black in several places Deuteronomy could not keep from repeating his heartbroken question, whispering it as if it were a prayer, "What have you done? What have you done?"

"Father, be reasonable. I asked her if she believed, and she did, Violetta volunteered to help me. She wanted this. She will ascend to the Layer and be met by a host, they will welcome her in with open arms and praise her name, she is a martyr, the first. Father do not grieve Violetta's sacrifice, revel in it, rejoice!" Macavity laughed with the simplicity of discussing the day's weather. Terror stricken Deuteronomy turned to face his son.

"I've been chosen father, the Everlasting has raised me up above all else so that I might lead. I can hear him, he speaks to me in my mind and my dreams, and his voice is terrible and great, yet so too is his love! For him, I will slay the wicked, punish the unrepentant, and honor the martyrs who will flock to him, and one day, we shall all, together, ascend to sit at the seat of his throne!" Macavity spoke, his voice trembling with fervor, eyes alight with a manic fanaticism.

Managing to struggle to his feet Deuteronomy released his rage and sorrow in a crushing blow to the side of his son's face. Macavity staggered for several moments before falling an expression of pain and betrayal in his gaze as he looked up at the grey cat. "I-" Macavity began in a weak trembling voice. "I did it for you..."

Gripping his son hard with murderous intention Deuteronomy felt his fist connect several more times before in grief he fell to his knees arms wrapped about the boy. Violently he cried, wailing and lamenting, clinging to and mourning the son he hadn't realized he'd lost. His mind feverishly ablaze Deuteronomy couldn't help but blame himself, wondering when and how this had happened, and so without notice. It was Macacity who soothed him, face bloody and raw, that pulled away with a smile and wiped the tears from Deuteronomy's face.

"Shh," Macavity whispered standing, trying to pull his father up after him. "It's alright, I forgive you. Come, let's go home."

"No." Deuteronomy said failing to meet his gaze as he stood. "You are banished from these lands, Macavity. If you ever set foot in the Yard again it will be the end of you." he declared firmly.

The young tom's face faltered as he tried to make sense of his father's words. "I don't understand," he said weakly. "I'm going to lead the Tribe, the Everlasting chose me... I'm your son!"

A dark shadow passing over his visage as Deuteronomy stooped to lift the broken form of Violetta, the feel of wide amber eyes upon him, he turned to Macavity. "You will never again be my son." he had said watching as the words took a devastating toll on his son who shook violently, strangled half cries escaping him, cut by partial conversations uttered from his mouth in a chain of hurried words. Pain flared through the old cat as he witnessed his son's rapid deterioration before Macavity fled from sight.

That night Deuteronomy would bury Violetta in the soft peat to the west of the Rudunner fields, laying her secretly into the soil with broken apologies for not having been able to protect her. Bella would search for her daughter for years, a consuming desire that would send her to the brink of madness earning despise among the Tribe who little understood her secret agony, mocking her disheveled and broken appearance, calling her Grizabella.

But all the while Old Deuteronomy had been haunted by a ghost of his own, far greater than the guilt and remorse that consumed him, was the ghost of Macavity's manic grin, a grin which shone on him now, from above, before the expression and owner who bore it vanished into the night.

"Dad!" cried out Rum Tum Tugger, his voice shattered and distant, as Deuteronomy fumbled, hands running mindlessly over the bowels that hung from the gaping wound. "Daddy?" the dark tom whispered softly, stroking the gentle loving face that had smiled down upon him since birth.

Deuteronomy's eyes fluttered open, gentle fondness filling his heart. "My little Tail Tugger," he croaked reaching out and squeezing his hand, before turning away. "Munkustrap," he called weakly eyes scanning the hellish goings as panic and confusion broke out like a plague. "Where's Munkustrap?" he asked. "Where's my son?"  

Tugger gripped his father's shoulder trying to assure to the dying cat that he was not alone, but Deuteronomy was scarcely away of him, mind keen with the need to share what he could with the cat meant to lead. "Munkustrap!" the leopard spotted cat screamed for his brother.

The silver tabby turned from his wife and daughter who he had instructed to wait for him while he battled the blaze. A low call of anguish rising in his chest he rushed to where Deuteronomy lay. "I'm right here father." he said in a broken voice. 

"Take care of them, Munuks, take care of my people!" Old Deuteronomy begged turning towards him. 

"I will!" the guardian promised burying his face into his father's slick fur as he wailed. 

"I, I knew I could trust you, I Iove you my son..." Deuteronomy murmured between blood soaked coughing, eyes blearily distant. A breath rattled inside his chest, as Deuteronomy watched his soul in torment as chaos descended upon the Yard. Quietly, he slipped away amid screams of fear and terror, Munkustrap's bitter tears, and Tugger's ragged screams.


	6. Chapter 6

All around them the world had, almost overnight, become a terrible and confusing place to be for kittens Victoria and Jemima. Tension had invaded every aspect of their lives; with friends secreted away in their homes, the unlikely pair were prey to a constant barrage of ridicule and angered tones. Never were they to ask any questions, always were they meant to stay in sight, and visitations with those they cared for most, hurt in ways that were not to be mentioned, were kept scarce and brief.

The queens who had been growing steadily apart for some time, now clung to each other, their only sense of normalcy and reliance in a world they no longer felt they belonged in. Isolated, and with the burdening guilt of survival a toxic confusion eroding them away from within like a corrosive acid in their hearts, the girls now more than ever needed one another.

Currently they sat in Victoria's room, Jemima in the window seal, Victoria sprawled on her bed, noontime sun warming the small tidy space and filling them with a fresh wakefulness they felt guilty to experience. Today should have been a day where they were out running through the Yard with their friends; climbing, racing, and daring one another to do stupid but exciting stunts. Instead they were stuck inside, penned up like criminals.

Victoria, who was not unaccustomed to loss having been orphaned young was mulling over the memorial service they had just left, comparing it to long distant memories of a time when her mother and father had been laid to rest.

What she could recall of the event was a somber procession of cats, a few she recognized, but mostly strangers peering tearfully at the rigidly bound forms that had once been the only people to have ever mattered in her young life. The two bodies seemed cold, lifeless, and removed as if not really there, as if part of some dream only half remembered. Victoria recalled watching as they were wrapped and carefully perfumed, feeling a tightness in her chest when watching first her father's face, and then her mother's disappear beneath the strips of cloth.

The young kitten had been frantic, still sick with fever but very much recovered from the illness that had made an orphan of her, and had tried to free her parents from their bindings. So many hands carrying her, passing her along from one to another, a strange whirl of unfamiliarity, and then when Victoria had given up all hope and was wallowing in the disparity of a child lost in time Aunt Jenny appeared and scooped her up into loving arms.

Her lips pressing together the white queen ruefully thought of her treatment of her aunt lately. After everything Jennyanydots has done for her Victoria felt that she really should have been nicer towards her, more obedient. Yet in the same instance the child had absolutely no intentention of changing.

"Why do you suppose Mistoffelees wanted to bury Exotica privately?" she mused then, ears keen for any approaching footfalls that would announce her aunt's impending arrival; no topic of discussion felt safe anymore, not even in her own room.

"I dunno." Jemima replied sadly from where she sat, wide brown eyes peering out at the grim, empty Yard.

Silence ate up the atmosphere then. Initially perturbed by such disquiet the girls had come to accept it as merely one of many new aspects of their current state of being.

Still, Victoria's mind puzzled. She recalled that there seemed to be a great number of individuals in attendance when they lowered her parents down. Everyone had gotten to say goodbye, it was as close to closure as one could get, she felt. The burials of Gus and Deuteronomy were heart rending tasks done in haste out of necessity and not much by which to compare it, but the fact that she hadn't seen Exotica at peace unsettled something within the white queen who was coming to grips with mortality far quicker than any kit her age should have had to.

"You don't suppose it's because Macavity did something unspeakable to her do you, left her disfigured?" she asked, the words slipping out as soon as they had entered her brain. Both females jolted in horror of what Victoria had unthinkingly released into the world and the insensitivity of what she had just said.

"Vicky!" Jemima gasped looking at her, a hand flying over her own mouth.

"I-" the white queen started just as much in shock. "I'm sorry, I just-" and in a rush of tears she pressed her face into a pillow and began to sob.

Jemima was crossing the room and at her side in an instant, rubbing her friend's back, whispering soothing, far too adult words and trying to coax Victoria out of her melancholy, but the older girl continued to wail, all the stresses and sorrows that weighed her down finally freed. After a while the tears had stopped, and the queens lay on the bed; Jemima's legs dangling off the end, Victoria's stretched up the wall at the top, their heads beside one another, cheeks touching; they way they used to sit when they were younger, and could actually fit legs and all while doing this.

"What happened to us?" the dark calico asked after a while of steady breathing. "We used to be so close, and then, well, ...now its like we hardly know each other anymore."

Victoria whose eyes were still red rimmed from crying bit her lower lip. It was complicated, and something she wasn't positive that she knew the answer to. They just started getting too different, liking different things, and before she knew it they only ever seemed to see one another at gatherings and the like.

"I dunno," Victoria confessed. "I think a just grew up faster than you did."

"Mm," came Jemima's unhappy but non committal grunt in response.

A defensive anger flared within Victoria, "What?" she snapped, try as she might not to.

Jemima, ever the diplomat took a long calming breath before answering as delicately as possible. "I don't think doing the types of things you're doing, especially with Plato, makes you any more mature or grown up as I am." Victoria had opened her mouth to protest but the calico had pressed on. "Besides, I'm worried about you."

Neither cat spoke for a long time, before Victoria surprised them both, "I'll be careful Jem, I promise." she murmured, earning a smile from her friend in response.

It was just before sunset when Demeter came to collect her daughter and Victiora and Jenny were left to their own devices. Each had their own activities to occupy themselves, and though dinner was spent together it was a quiet, somber occasion. Afterwards Victiora did the dishes while Jenny loaded a basket with the extra she had been sure to make, giving her niece a backward glance, as if to assure herself she was really still there before bringing it to their neighbors Skimble and Electra.

Night fell on the Yard quickly enough and before she knew it the white queen was in bed. Only, she wasn't asleep. Anticipation mingled with the fear of being caught, as she waited quietly in the dark. Aunt Jenny's light had gone out nearly twenty minutes prior, but still the blossoming kitten waited. Once she felt safe with regards to being discovered Victoria slipped her hand beneath the covers and in between her legs. She found the fleshy little nob easily enough, a thrill of electricity coursing through her upon contact.

The young queen had been exploring, and had only recently found such ways to amuse herself. Closing her eyes and settling her head among the pillows she focused her breathing until the fleeting, ticklish sensations started giving way to deeper, all over warming feelings. It was then that she began to concentrate on specific, tantalizing thoughts and images. Victoria liked to think about Plato best though she had tried imagining others, toms and queens alike, but Plato always managed to be her favorite.

Biting her lower lip as a sigh escaped she imagined the heat of his breath on her throat where he would trail kisses, nip, and lick. It was easy to picture, they'd done it in real life, though nothing much further than the occasional fondle, despite what some would believe about her.

Next she thought about what it would feel like if she were beneath him. He would be heavy, his arms and legs so skilled and powerful would weigh her down, and he would rub against her invitingly.

Without warning her mind darted to the memorial service. Frustrated Victoria and banishing the sullen faces the idea and brought with it she put more effort into the mental imagery. Plato's mouth was sinking lower now, and it was his hand the circled and massaged, not her's.

The heat started to build giving the queen need to adjust her position, she didn't want it happening too fast, only for Jemima's words of caution to ring in her ears.

Eyes flashing open the queen tossed her head to the left and heaved a sigh, her fingers ceasing their work. Everything around her was so dark and so bleak all she wanted was a moment to herself, one of ecstasy, and joy, and the guilty pleasure of being alive, but it seemed not to be as everything but invaded her brain.

Irritably the kit pushed all thoughts and feelings that didn't not involve Plato and the warmness far away and began again.

As though with a fresh start, Victoria now imagined that they were kissing, he was inside her now, moving back and forth, in and out, and it felt good. Moving her hips with the beat his were the heat began to be all consuming, coursing through her limbs, throbbing with the beat of her heart between her legs. As everything started culminating into a blinding flare, and the images were harder and harder to maintain, her thoughts fraying Plato's ginger tips began to give way to an utterly red cat. He was strong, very strong and he made her feel small and weak by comparison, he was heavy and rash, and rough, and made her feel good.

Then, all at once the half formed thought of Macavity atop Impetuoua came to life.

Victoria sat bolt up right with a strangled scream, fear, regret, and self loathing washing over the queen like a plague.

Oh, Everlasting Cat, what was wrong with her? All at once she was in a hysterical fit of tears, one that brought Jenny in at a moment's notice.

The young queen felt dirty as her aunt scooped her up, rocking her back and forth. She was going to Hell, she deserved to go to Hell, Victoria thought as she wailed. Why had she let her mind go there? She was a monster! Consumed by disgust, and anger, and remorse she thrashed about on the bed, balling fists to beat against her legs even as Jennyanydotts tried to calm and assure her.

In that moment Victoria wanted nothing more than to die, and the worst part was she couldn't tell Jenny, anyone, why.

-

Author's Note: I am not trying to vilify Victoria by any means in this chapter. If anything I'm trying to humanize her and use her as a way to express how invasive this type of trauma can be on the individual as well as the community. It finds a way into every part of you even when least expected. Victoria is not a bad guy here, she is just a normal young lady doing perfectly normal things when something she couldn't help happened and now she has to deal with the remorse and shame of the fallout.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Pouncival was aware of other than the dull radiating pain at the back of his skull, was the fact that his body was cold, cold and damp. The youth lay motionless, eyes fast shut for several long minutes, fighting to open them, but unable. When at last his heavy lids did slide open his vision was dim, a thick ring of haze around the corners, the rest red hued. He knew without any need for confirmation that he had a concussion, but at first couldn't comprehend how, or why this was so. Blinking slowly as the kit mulled over clouded and distant seeming memories, he jolted, trying to sit up quickly instantly regretting the motion, head hanging heavily, shoulders sagging as dizziness and pain washed over him.

Tears in his eyes Pouncival knew only a few things to be true for the time being, and the first was that there had been a fire, and he had been attacked by large black rat in his home, the second was that he was no where familiar and seemingly alone. Raising a hand to the back of his head the boy gently assessed the wound, a deep, dirt filled gash in his scalp coming to meet his fingertips. Pulling his hand away he looked at it assuring himself the blood was dry. Taking a moment longer to gather himself, fear for his little sister, and grandfather weaving it's way into the fringes of his awareness the tom took his first good look as his surroundings.

The room was wide and round with a low hanging, domed ceiling which was hard to make out in completely the soft half light which filtered in at even intervals along the walls. The floor, if it could be called a proper floor, was at the very least damp where he lay, though just past his island of compacted earth the remainder of the room was little more than a swine's wallow, slick and wet with mud.

Pushing up to his feet, standing was a slow, uneasy process, that left him staggering and weak kneed until his hand found a wall. "Hello?" he called, gingerly turning he head from side to side taking in his surroundings.

There was something foreboding in the atmosphere, oppressive, and electrifying in the same instance. A sick, rotten odor tainting the air though Pounce thought better of breathing through his mouth. Shuffling forward the boy's foot sank slowly into the mud, which was at immediately too thick. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but there was something wrong with the mud, and the noxious scent stirred up by his disturbance of it, something that churnned his stomach and made a chill run through him.

Stepping back onto the dry ground he called out again, "Is anyone there?" Pouncival waited but to no avail, his nerves growing as a sense of another presence tickled at the back of his mind. He wasn't sure any longer that drawing attention to himself was such a good idea, yet the isolating silence was grating. "Hello?" he called, desperately, his voice cracking and falling off in a rasp.

His eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room the feline could only just make out the shape of a door on the other side of the round room. Jaw set, and teeth gritting together, Pouncival set off for it, at a slow, cautious pace. He wasn't sure what lie beyond that darkened space, black as pitch against the red-brown of the walls, but if there was any hope of escape, or regaining his family beyond it, the lad knew he had to reach it.

As he neared the door it began taking shape, and dimension, it wasn't solid, not quite, but rather was hatched with bands on metal, both vertical and horizontal. There were shapes just beyond the bars, dark masses along the floor, and for an instant Pounce believed that be saw one move. Trying hard to discern and what he was seeing, as the final stretch of space gave way before him, the kit was taken surprise by the angry green flash of a pair of eyes. He flinched, scurrying back a pace as the hissing and growling began. Squinting Pouncival made out the matted emaciated forms of at least two frightened tom kits about his own age huddled together, and glaring at him from the tiny adjoined room just on the other side of the cage door.

Cautiously, and as to make himself seem less threatening Pouncival crouched down, knees curling to his chest before holding out his hands, palm up to show he had nothing in them. He smiled nervously after a minute before finding his voice.

"M-my name's Pouncival," he began, pausing only a moment to run his tongue across chapped lips, glancing about in apprehension. "Do you know where we are?" he tried as the toms pressed tightly together against the other wall. "Maybe, have you seen my sister? Her name is Etcetera, she's stripey, and kinda loud." his laugh was pinched with nerves, tears pricking at his eyes thinking about Etcy in a place like this.

When his simple tactics failed to produce anything other than tense agitation amonst the others Pouce slowly backed away. Unsure of what else to do the brown and white stoop up, and walked towards one of the walls. Laying his hand against the smooth surface Pouncival began to walk, tracing his hand along the perimeter of the room. He was feeling for any deviation, any sign of weakness, or hidden entryway. Around, and around he walked changing direction every time he came upon the door in order to avoid walking in front of it, and starting up a ragged chorus of howls. Everything seemed fairly uniform, the tom pausing only a few times to pick at the oddly dried red-brown paint, or a crack in the wall.

His pacing quickly became second nature, soothing almost, after a time, staring at the mire coating ground one pass looking up at the domed ceiling on another. Too high to reach there seemed to be a hatch up there, somewhere near the center, though how he'd managed the climb the boy didn't know. So instead he walked, head throbbing as weariness, and dark, panicked thoughts began trekking their way into his brain.

After was seemed like years, and a second failed attempt at speaking with the strange cats on the other side of the bars Pouncival wanded back to his dry spot and sat down heavily. With the heels of his palms burried deep in his eyes the boy started to cry, in great anguished sobs.

"I just want to go home!" he cried in a whisper, lower lip trembling. "Please I just want to go home!" he wailed after a time.

"Really?" a coy, humor filled voice asked from somewhere just above him. Pouncival looked up with a start, his brown eyes impossibly wide and frightened at the sight before him. Almost everyone knew of Macavity in one way or another, while some like Demeter, and the Bombalurina had, had personal experiences with him, and other Tribe members such as Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger were related to him, Pouncival knew him from the stories, cautionary tales, or horrors depending on who was telling the tale.

He was tall, and lean with knotted bright red-orange fur interlaced with sporadic and unpredictable black and white tabby marks. The rogue tom's eyes were dark, nearly black, but there seemed to be something burning within, a fire that made them glint like opals. "Care to prove it?" Macavity asked with a sharp wicked grin coming to crouch down in front of the boy.

"Pl-please don't hurt me!" the kit choked out, staring up at the fiend.

"Shhh," Macavity cooed running a hand down the side of Pouncival face, making the boy's eyes flutter fearfully as he pulled away. "I have faith that no harm will come to you."

"Now," Macavity's voice boomed throughout the round room. "These are the rules. Kill so that you might live." the red tom stopped for a moment to survey his audience as they watched with trepidation. "If he falls, any that remain of you, are free to go, if that is what you wish," he motioned towards the barred door. "And if you survive, then you live to see another day." he directed these words to a quaking Pouncival.

"This cat," the adult went on thunderously. "Is no alley cat, no stray picking through refuse, wasting away, cold and alone, as you three once were, and will again be if, and only if you fail to kill him, and again, only if you choose to be, for my arms are ever open... This cat has in fact never known a day of hunger or discomfort in his life, and to pit him against any one of you would spell your doom. This is why you will fight him as one. Now," he declared making an end of his speech. "Take your freedom, or your place at my side, the choice is yours only do this one thing unto me first."

Horror stricken Pouncival clamored to his feet, the cold slick of adrenaline wetting his veins as his heart began to pound faster and harder than it had ever before. "Fear not," Macavity whispered, coming to rest a hand on the lad's shoulder, his gaze distant and unfocused as be spoke. "The Everlasting will see to it that only his chosen and most righteous of children will survive the coming days, and then you will be appointed as a warrior, a soldier of the Layer."

Then he was gone, vanished, while Pouncival's attention was focused or the door, as though he had never been there at all. Slowly, on rusted hinges the only barrier between the Jellicle cat and the strays slowly eased open of its own accord. Fur rising across his whole body the patched feline watched as they crawled out, spindly limbed, faces gaunt giving their eyes an overlarge, glassy appearance. They were fithly, caked in mud, and reeking of motor oil as they emerged into a space finally large enough that they might stand. It was then that the missing pieces fell into place and the boy finally understood, the mud, the vile odor, the single hatch in the ceiling, this wasn't a cell, this was an arena and the price of escape was victory.

Pressing his back against the wall he watched as they came, dividing themselves one on either side, and one coming straight head on. He'd no hope for the opportunity of reasoning, their eyes were wild, and they, all of them, had already borne claws. Feeling his own sliding from their sheaths of skin Pouncival was trying to determine his first move, his greatest attributes his size and strength, though nothing could be said for voracity, and something told him these toms were well accustomed to fighting.

He found his opening after loosing a fierce snarl, the thin tabby at his right flinching. Racing forward Pouncival knocked the other cat to the ground. In an instant the others were upon him, and his side flared with pain as something slid between a pair of ribs. Biting hard he felt his teeth close around a collarbone, tearing the flesh that covered it. Cuffed in the head Pouncival's body went limp, vision darkening as he slumped to the ground, picking himself up almost too late. Brain frenzied and the desire to live buring brightly within the boy refused to go down so easily.

Thinking quick on his feet he managed to get around the scabbed black and white. Holding him fast with his left arm Pounce raked his claws across his boney chest in several swift but devastating motions, until his claws found the soft part of the other boy's abdomen, deafened by the painful shrieks and cries that no creature should have been able to make as he ripped him open. With the others advancing on him Pouncival had no time for remorse or terror at what he had just done, only take advantage of the situation as the dying tom reached towards those meant to be his allies.

"Help," he cried sounding far too young to die. "Help me please, it hurts! It hurts!" he wailed gripping with blood soaked hands at the ankles of the passing cats. Shaking loose from the black and white's hold the tabby rushed forward in a pelt his opponent was scarcely able to avoid.

It went on like this for what seemed like days, the two charging or feigning to, Pouncival managing to dodge them when they did, and narrowly escape orchestrated traps when they didn't. The disembowel cat had eventually fallen quiet and now lay cold where he fell, the remaining three were tired, panting, but none would concede death, when a chance at living was still within reach. A miscalculated step and the lunging black cat stumbled to the ground. Fighting to rise when Pouncival's foot found the back of his neck, his arms gave way. Stomping again, and again until there came a loud crack from underneath his heel the Jellicle felt heat coursing through him.

The mortality locked pair circled, making long archs on opposing sides of the ring. It was as Pouncival was beginning to question himself, and his chances of survival that his foot slid across something hard and smooth. Never taking his eyes off the tabby he stopped to pick up a fist sized stone. At the advantage and with the element of surprise he darted forward stone colliding with the other cat's skull. They went down in a clawing, biting heap, but Pouncival struck again, and again until the fighting lessened. Bringing the rock down there was wet pop and the tabby began to convulse. Startled by the surprise and shock of what happened the brown and white pulled back, losing grip of his weapon in the process.

Looking down as blood began to bubble from his enemy's nose he saw him, truly for the first time without the veil of fear, or the threat of death. He was just a boy his age, a boy who had already suffered much in his life, a boy Pounce could have called friend. His already clouded vision obscured by tears Pouncival, still straddling the other kit's waist started to cry, before reaching out with trembling hands and closing the boy's airway.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

When the job was done the broken feline crawled as far away from the bodies and the carnage as he could get and collapsed. What seemed like days passed, and nothing changed, Pouncival would fall into fits of hysterics crying, screaming, beating his head against the wall, or fall into nightmare fueled slumber, and all with no escape from what he'd done. The bodies remained untouched, damning him from where they lay no matter how loudly he shrieked to heavens and begged their forgiveness. Each and every waking moment spent looking at discarded shells that had once been children like himself. It was then that Pouncival truly wished to die.

What seemed like years went by uncounted, and then Pouncival woke and they were gone. Looking with disbelief, he felt strangely weightless, and able to breathe, then light began polluting his dim world of sollidude and remorse. Looking up he saw that the hatch stood open, and there, silhouetted by an impossibly bright light stood his capture smiling down at him.

"You've done well my soldier." Macavity called to him in a voice that glittered with pride. "And now," he smiled. "A test of faith."

The kit jumped when a shrill scraping sound emanated from just beyond the barred door. A kitten, no older than the Tribe's youngest, brown furred, crying for his mother, and scented with Rudunner incense toppled down into the cage. Immediately sick to his core Pouncival's ears folding flat he looked up in alarm.

"I trust you know what needs doing, my son." Macavity called down to him. "And in return, a gift." Suddenly another form came to block the luminous white light radiating from above. Etcetera her face tear stained, but otherwise unharmed cried out for her brother. "Of course, failure, on your part means that there will be consequences."

Etcy was hauled from sight by a pair of hands though her voice could still be heard, screaming, and wailing in desperation for help.

Slowly, the cage door swung open...


	8. Chapter 8

It was usless to fight, Electra knew this even as she screamed shrilly, struggling against the fierce vice like grips of the strong, menacing, cats had on her upper arms as they wrestled her towards the worn red bricked building. Her heart pounding, and a fire burned bright inside her belly the young queen wouldn't give in, refused to and fought hard to free herself. Pulling away and thrashing wildly she could just make out Etcetera being carried in behind her. Crying softly but otherwise emotionally numb, and too frozen with fear to try and break free the pale tabby passed from rodent paws into awaiting feline hands.

"Etcy!" the dark tortoise shell called out her momentum changing direction as she kicked off of the ground, catching her guardsmen by surprise. Managing to free one arm each the kittens grabbed ahold of one another. "It's going to be OK," Electra, the stronger of the two lied, knowing that there was no way for her words to hold true. "Look at me Etcy," she said with a forced smile. "It's going to be OK!"

"They killed Gus." the ghost of the once spirited kitten whispered in dull response, her eyes overrun by an unyielding cascade of tears. The fur on the darker female's body prickled, rising in places at the thought of this dreadful news.

A fist came down sharply between the kittens' joined hands, jarring them painfully apart before the toms resumed control of the situation and began marching them deeper, and deeper into the man made building. Breath catching Electra looked about herself, taking every detail in as she began composing ideas for escape. The ceilings were overly high, their once white wash filthy and chipped, deep cracks running through the plaster, with trash strewn along the floors. Though what caught Electra's attention was the writing. Sporadic and illegible it could be found on any and every surface of the hall, even occasionally scribbled across a discarded cardboard box, or crumpled page torn from a phone book.

Immerging into a large room she assumed was once a lobby the kitten felt dwarfed, and insignificant by comparison, a sea of red eyes staring down at her with menace from every direction. The pungent odor of rats clashed with the natural must of decaying leaf litter, the damp organic materials gathered on the floor blown in through broken and neglected windows. The toms hauled the kittens through the large area, bypassing a roaring fire in which lay several iron rods, ends red hot. 

Forced down another short hall before finding themselves being pushed and pulled in different directions, each going into a separate room. The fight reigniting in both of them the girls hissed and yowled angrily, only stopping when Etcetera was lifted well of the ground, gagging and choking, held aloft by her throat.

"Do not harm the child," a coaxing, sing-song voice called out to their captors from an unlit corner further down the passageway. "She is her brother's keeper, and shall be the harold of his salvation." Without hesitation the offending cat lowered Etcy back to the floor. 

"I thank you." the unruly looking red cat said, a contradictorily placid and serene expression on his face as he watched his men going about their tasks. Suddenly, as Electra watched with mounting apprehension in the presence of Macavity himself, the cat's ear began to twitch as though perturbed by the buzzing of a fly or gnat. Closing his eyes, craning his head to one side after a moment, as if having difficulty hearing. The bare room before her suddenly seemed welcoming to Electra as Macavity began muttered in harsh, frenzied tones.

"Not that one," he said then, in a still rather pleasant tone, a roll of laugher perfectly counterpointed by the click of the lock on Etcetera's door. "You thought you could slip past me, didn't you?" he asked coming forward to meet them. "Like an adder among the reeds, murderer." he spat, bending to stand at eye level.

Electra twisted and wormed away, heart racing, and nose wrinkled by the dull, churning odor of uncared for teeth. "Not yet born and already you had conspired against them, oh usurper; pulled from your mother's womb which bound up tight in your wake. They all died because of you." Macavity hissed in her face, glassy black eyes, cold and distant, as if looking at something far beyond the tortoise shell kit before him. 

Then as if on the flip of a switch he blinked, light coming back to him and he stood addressing his men, "Put her below." Sparing Electra one final glance he turned on heel fading back into the darkness, vanishing completely when the prisoner blinked.

The young queen was being pulled backwards now, away from the rooms and her friend, who she called to frantically, but it was no use. Drug back past the lobby with it hordes of rodents and down a short hall towards a great, heavy door over which hung a sign reading: Basement, in think, bold font. Electra howled angrily as they approached. Her escorts were not gentle, and when their tempers had been tried to the brink they shoved her forward, allowing her to fall and tumble head over heels down the grand human sized stairs, the corners and angles of which bit and bludgeoned.

Dazed but largely unhurt Electra was quiet for the remainder of the decent, fear and disquieting unsettling her within. It wasn't long however before the noxious stench began filling the kit's nose, and watering her eyes. It was a deep musky smell, that was part stagnant water, part decay, and somehow, fur bristling Electra knew that at least part of it was the smell of death. By the time it had grown unbearable enough to put the fight back into the female they were walking over the few steps which were slick with putrid water, coming to a dilapidated, door, the wood warped at tbe bottom, a half fallen sign reading "Laundry Room" hanging from it, and a makeshift doorknob at feline height.

One of the toms walked to it, and pushed mightily against the wooden structure as it scraped open. Electra's knees buckled at the sight that played out before her. The room was flooded, trash, refuse, and rotting organic material floating in the still rank waters. What had robbed her of the ability to speak or even to move however, held aloft by the terrible grip of her guard alone, was the sight of the bodies. Fat and bloated, their flesh water logged and made soft, cats of every conceivable age and color drifting in the darkness, some bound to the walls with chains, other floating free.

Without hesitation the second guard, the one who'd opened the door grabbed hold of Electra dragging her behind him into the frigid waters. Screaming in sheer terror the kitten struggled to get loose, the disturbances in the water causing skin and bogged down muscle to dislodge itself from the corpses, to bob in the newly made currents. Never having swum before Electra's vain endeavors caused her face to go underwater, where she sputtered a gasped, choking when brought back up by a powerful hand. She was bound about her wrists to one wall at water level, and then left there treding water.

"Help!" she screamed as the door slowly closed leaving her in an utter veil of darkness her amber eyes could not piece. "Someone please help me!" she cried again, water flooding into her mouth. In an instant her throat burned with the fiery taste of vomit, no longer able to contain her stomach contents.

Isolated for days, faced with the threat of drowning every time her muscles gave way, or she slipped off to sleep, Electra was in the company of the dead, all of them calling her name.

Sitting up with a gasp the kit flipped her head from side to side, taking in her room, warmed by a gentle glow, a nightlight she could no longer live without. Covered in sweat and quaking the girl pushed a pillow over her face and screamed. Every night, every night since coming home she would fight sleep until it took her, inevitability waking back in that flooded room where she had thought to spend her last moments of life. The first few weeks back she would lay curled, head on her father's lap, or holding his hand while he sat up in a chair watching over her. He'd needed sleep himself however and slowly she began distancing herself, for his sake, taking the bitter tasting pills meant to help ease her into the realm of slumber from Jenny.

But they weren't working. She was tired, never got more than a few hours a night, or even during the blinding light of day, and she was so tired. Sobbing quietly into her pillow for a long minute she picked up the bottle and took two more pills. After sitting for a while she needed to walk, but didn't want to wake her father, so she paced the room, enjoying the feel of walking, her legs occasionally forgetting the motion, muscle memory from days of continues swimming refusing to leave her. After what felt like hours without result she took a few more pills before laying down. Mind still abuzz Electra tossed and turned beneath her blankets until she could take it no longer, and teary eyed swallowed down some more of the chalky, bitter disks.

Electra just wanted to sleep, so badly, all she wanted was to sleep, but by the time the kitten thought that perhaps she had taken too many pills, it was already far too late. Alarm growing she found herself confined to a body she could not move. The kitten stared up at her ceiling, and could feel every drag of breath, the air pulling, sucking in through a tight throat, her chest struggling to expand, each desperate gasp more labored and difficult than the last. Unable to rise or call out tears trekked slow solemn paths down the sides of her face as the dreadfully real revelation that she wouldn't see the morning, she her father, ever again lit on her mind. Remorseful, thinking only of the ginger tom who'd raised her with patience, and diligence she fell into unconscious, screaming and raving in the hollows of her mind, oh Everlasting, she thought, what have I done?

 

A cry in the dark early morning woke the tribe with a contagious anxiety that roiled about the Yard like a living thing. It was loud and long and languishing. Neighbors raced into the cold open air to see what the matter was, only to find a bedraggled Skimbleshanks cradling the unmoving form of his daughter, collapsed in a fit of anguish in doorway.

"Skimble?" Jennyanydots whispered coming near enough to see that the girl was no more. Crouching down, a quaking hand on his back the teary eyed queen tried again. "Skimble?"

"I didn't know!" the orange tom screamed hugging Electra tightly to him. "I didn't know," he repeated. "She seemed, she seemed to be getting better, I didn't think-" the cat screamed as Jenny knelt beside him, others coming to gather around the doorway as well. 

"What happened?" the maned Rum Tum Tugger asked his voice lilting, and the answer painfully obvious as Tumblebrutus was trying to command him back to his home. 

"I went- I had to check on her, I've been so afraid I'd wake up and she'd be gone." the railway cat managed to choke out. "I opened the door and I thought she was sleeping, she looked, looked so peaceful, but " Skimble paused pressing a kiss into the crown of his daughter's head. "Why didn't she tell me? Why couldn't she come to me?" he asked in a quiet, shaky voice. There was a moment of intense still as Skimble settled back on his heels, staring off into the distance. "Why didn't I check on her sooner?" he asked turning to his friend. 

Tugger who felt strangely numb, couldn't think of a solitary word to say as he watched Skimble mourn, beating his fists against head, wailing Electra's name. The tom backed away as Jenny began calling for help and giving orders. Jelly arrived with a blanket and threw in gingerly over the dead kit as her own daughter screamed at the dreadful sight that was her best friend in all the world. 

"No!" Skimble hissed uncovering his child's face, her once bright eyes clouded, dull and staring. "She's not dead, she's not dead!" he raged lashing out at those who tired to help him, unable to face the fact, cope with the reality that the only family he had left was gone, robbed from him, and unaware of the truth, and burdened with the idea that Electra had taken her own life.


	9. Now

The house stood quiet, everything in its place, from the vase over the mantle, its neglected flowers now withered and dead, to the decorative silver spoons hung in the kitchen. The home was furnished for comfort with a pair of over large downy arm chairs in the living room, rugs and runners covering the dirt floor offering warmth under paw, and down a short hallway two bedrooms were nestled with a deceiving sense of calm, beds well made with heavy quilts. 

Despite all of this luxury the home of the twins felt cold and empty with disuse, even weeks after their return. 

When Coricopat and Tantomile refused to speak after their rescue the tribe had assumed the worst, though dare not question them. Tantomile had, had nearly every finger broken, her digits twisted and grey. Cuts, bruises, and burns ranged over her entire form with various degrees of severity. Her ribs were cracked and though she refused examination to confirm or tend to the matter she had been sexually abused as well. Coricopat who seemed to have suffered only superficial injuries, a few claw marks to his face, arms and chest was sure to care for and tend to anything his sister might need, quick to putting their friends troubled minds to rest he now kept himself busy tending to his sister's recovery. 

Sitting at the table the queen watched her brother in silence, her eyes wide and watery as with a somber hush Coricopat worked. Dusting a bit of flour from his paws and coat before grabbing the thick glass pan off the counter the tom walked it to the stove which stood adjacent to it. Lowering the oven door the his eyes half closed at the rush of hot air the appliance belched out like a dragon. Using a hot pad he shoved the casserole to the center of the rack before swinging shut the door. He stood rigidly for a moment distant and removed, motions made slow by a mind working through the horrors of the past before giving his head a little shake as if to clear it of the darkness and clutter. 

Coricopat glanced about the room like a nervous tic, trying to find something, anything with which to occupy his time. Spying the china he took it down one piece at a time, arranging them in orderly fashion, busying himself with their dusting, as he meticulously washed them over with a wet rag. Tension electrified the air between the siblings, the female's hard stare tangible on the male's flesh as he fought the urge to meet her gaze, fearful of what he might find it held. Neither feline spoke. 

Cutting through the oppressive atmosphere of the room minutes later the kettle whistled sharply, steam billowing from its spout. Moving away from where he stood Coricopat removed the gleaming pot from the heat source before rifling through the cupboards, producing from one a cup, from another a tea bag, and small pot of honey. Bringing these items to the table he sat them before Tantomile. Dropping the bag into the vessel, he followed it by a spoonful of the thick amber liquid, pouring the hot water in last. 

"It's chamomile." he murmured stirring the brew gently, before their eyes met. Chilled Coricopat returned hurriedly to his work, breath catching on his throat. 

Tantomile's eyes glittered scornfully as she watched him for several moments over her steaming cup. "I hate you." the queen said, her voice falling, low and grating as her words slipped out between gritted teeth. Coricopat clenched his jaw, continuing his idle work, keeping his mind busy so that it couldn't wander. 

The female was trembling now, with violent jerks as she fought hard to control herself to reign in emotions too devastating to face. She couldn't do this any longer, she couldn't lie to herself, to the others, she couldn't pretend that everything was alright anymore. It was sick and wrong and she shouldn't have to protect him anymore, not after what he'd done. 

"I hate you." she repeated her voice clear with conviction as she glared with despise at the cat she'd once believed to be her mirror. Now, if he was indeed an extension of herself in any way he had been twisted and ruined, he was corrupted, a cancer that needed to be cut out. 

"What you have had me do Tanto?" Coricopat asked his voice a bare whisper. "He would have killed me."

"I would have died then!" the queen shrieked tears falling from her eyes as she gave voice to the pain that had been welling inside for what seemed like a lifetime. 

A bitter laugh crossed the tom's lips, he shook his head before looking across to his sister with an expression of disbelief. "You can't say that," he smiled contradictory. "You don't know, you weren't in my position." 

Tantomile felt and sob rip through her, "You raped me!" 

Porcelain shattered against the wall, showering the room with thousands of gagged shards. Coricopat now stood empty handed, quaking with rage and self loathing. "He would have killed us both." he rationalized, grimacing at the sound of his own weak excuses, unable to escape what he'd done. Coricopat had tortured and defiled his own sister, his only family out of cowardess, and self preservation. 

"I'm sorry." he muttered, shoulders beginning to tremble beneath the crushing wave of his emotions. 

Tantomile laughed, a shrill, joyless sound, "You're sorry?" she scoffed, mouth twisting against the bitter taste of the words as she spoke them. A hand quickly raised to her lips as the woman tried to contain a sob. "You really would do anything to please him, wouldn't you?" she whispered behind her fingers, scarcely loud enough to be heard as her gaze faltered, overcome with despair. 

Coricopat crossed the room in an instant, a primal, rage filled yowl tearing from somewhere deep within. The impact was sudden leaving the queen little time to react, the contact of her head striking the wall jarring, as her chair clattered noisily to the floor. Fighting back spurred on by instincts Tantomile's initial burst of strength waned at the weight of her brother's body on top of her, hand at her throat. The tom's angry panting breath conjured vivid, and painful memories which surfaced sharply as she shifted beneath him. Bones and flesh well on the mend the wounds to her soul however, were still fresh, raw, and bleeding. 

Taking a breath to steel her nerves Tontomile opened her eyes. "I thought I was saving us, all those years ago." she whispered failing at first to meet Coricopat's powerful stare. "But really I was just damning you, wasn't I?"

Coricopat blinked, then, and as if waking from a bad dream looking about himself with a disjointed fear. Releasing his sister the black and white inched back, looking at his hands in confusion. "Tanto, I'm sorry-" he began voice quavering with self-condamnation. "I would never!" 

Tantomile laughed just as humorlessly at this as she had before. "You would and you will." she murmured. "You need to leave." she said with a firm bluntness that cut through him. Pained the tom stared at her incredulously, before offering a weak half smile. 

"Tanto," he began edging closer, arms open for an embrace, misty eyed. 

"Now!" the queen wailed, curling defensively in on herself at the threat of his touch. 

There was a harsh, sobering moment of silence before on numb legs Coricopat picked himself up off the floor. Struggling against tears he shuffled aimlessly through the shell of a building that had once been his home, encumbered by a wrenching shame he took no worldly belongings with him. 

The hollow ache in Tantomile's heart was deep, but so too was the bitter relief at her brother's departure. Sitting on the floor where she had been left the queen took some time to breathe her first burdenless and unguarded breaths since returning to the Yard. The air wasn't exactly sweet without Coricopat there, but it was definitely easier to take in. 

Rising gingerly after several moments Tantomile looked with burning sense of guilt at her barren home. Finding her body moving on marionette strings the female stood staring over the shattered plate for a long time before stooping down and gathering the remains. Choking back tears the queen slid them around on the table, rearranging them, trying in vain to fix what was broken beyond repair. 

She'd lost him, Tantomile had lost her brother and it was all because of her. She crumbled, fresh tears doing nothing to soothe or wash away her pains. 

They had been different, always, set apart from others in the ways they spoke, the ways they acted, even in the ways they dreamed. Gifted with the sight the twins had been inseperable as kits, an endearing trait their mother relished with pleasure. Tantomile could recall sunny afternoons in their alley scarcely needing a word to convey meaning to her brother as they made a boisterous merriment all their own. They knew things innately, nothing was ever lost in their home where one or the other of the pair could not find it. Their secret jokes and riddles taking on meaning to the adults around them as many proved true, predictions and premonitions made by the black and whites who could hardly be told one from the other. 

It was mid October when the kittens had woken violently from sleep, cries of terror piecing the night sky as their parents rushed in. They couldn't form the words not right away, not in the right order, but when at last their tear stained voices managed to relay what haunted them it was quickly and quietly dismissed as a bad dream. Besides, that alley had been chosen by many a clan-less feline families for the regular absence of dogs, their parents assured that there was nothing to be worried about and eased their kits back to bed. The two were withdrawan from the world after that, speaking only to themselves in hushed urgent conversation as they tried to discover a way to cheat not only fate but death as well. 

When the day arrived the twins did all they could think of to keep their mother inside, all they had needed was an hour and the hounds would have moved on, but like a beam of light travelling from one point to another, this too was an inevitable reality. Their father looked at them was a fearful hate when he came upon the scene, neither child was crying, rather they sat calmly beside the mutilated corpse of the queen who had given them life their eyes impossibly wide, blood staining their fur. When neighbors conveyed what had happened right down to the time of the attack with startling accuracy to his children's nightmare not one month prior he turned them out savagely. Fear and loss fueled his anger and rage until battered and alone the kittens fled for their own safety. 

The winter snows found them long before mercy ever would. Cold, starving, and alone it was Tantomile who proved to be the more resilient of the two. She cared for Coricopat, warmed him, protected him, and fed his spirit with words of hope and encouragement when she was unable to feed his body. Slowly though they were dying. It was when the young tom had fallen into a seemingly wakeless slumber that he appeared. He called himself Old Hob, he wore a patch on one eye, and a cloak about his shoulders. He claimed to have been guided to the kittens and offered them food and a place out of the biting wind. With little other recourse Tantomile had agreed, sealing a fate that for the time being was beyond even her sight. 

The frail looking tom had carried Coricopat while his sister followed, leading the way to the place he called home, harboring them through the worst of what the snows had to offer. By the time the earth began to warm however neither felt inclined to leave. So young and lost they were desperate for somewhere where they could belong. Hob was more than willing to provide such a place. Overtime he helped them to understand their gifts, displaying many of his own in the process and helped to ease the hate and anxiety they held for themselves and the guilt that came with being unable to prevent their mother's death. 

He called them his disciples, something which filled Coricopat with purpose and a sense of belonging, while in the same instance flooding Tantomile with unease and an overwhelming sense of dread that could not be explained. Despite this reluctance both worked hard to please the father that Old Hob had become to them. They were happy, for years they were happy. Then one night their guardian asked something of them that was unforgivable. He had dreamed, claimed that there was a cat that would soon end his life, and begged the felines who were now toeing the line between kittenhood, and adulthood to kill the stranger. 

Tantomile who could not reconcile her past, and her mother's death with what Old Hob had beseeched her to do refused. She had come to an understanding about her powers, that the future was coming and what they witnessed in their visions were inevitable truths that could not be altered. The young queen was merely grateful for the foresight and ability to appreciate the journey on her way to meet whatever it was she saw, mindful not to squander the time inbetween. Her brother felt differently, he believed that they were meant to change the outcome, that they were the master's of their own fate, manipulators of destiny. He was willing to do the job. 

It took tears, blood, and several days leading up to the would be assassination to convince Coricopat not to go through with it, to leave and go with her, everywhere, anywhere but stay there with the mad man who would turn them into murderers if given the chance. In the end it was the threat of leaving on her own that had won him over. They travelled aimlessly, fearful of being followed and found out, mounting tension rising as the further they got from where they had lived with Old Hob the more isolated and controlled they realized they had been. They found themselves refugees, unwanted and unwelcome until one night during a heavy rain the pair came upon the Yard, a new home, with a new family. 

Never did Tantomile believe that she would ever see the dangerous and conniving tom who had saved them from the snows and slow starvation again, but like a winding river travelling through a delta, their streams happened to cross once again. This time however, the queen came to know him under the name Macavity. 

Tantomile cried harsh tears of self loathing and despise. She would have done better to smother Cori when they were kittens than the let him fall prey to the devil no matter what disguise he wore. She bit her lip violently fighting back the urge to scream. She'd seen it return to him, the light in Coricopat's eyes as Macavity spoke, the fervor and eagerness to please evident. He had done small things in their time of recent captivity, things most cats wouldn't be ashamed to admit to doing in the face of death. Then, then Macavity turned the tom against her, and Tantomile learned the truth. 

She had never truly saved him. Coricopat had never really escaped escaped that place, rather he had merely been sleeping all this time. 

It was the sharp tang of something burning that at last saw the queen to her feet again. Slipping on hotpads she easily ignored the electrifying pain that shot through her mending fingers as she removed the charred casserole from the oven. Setting it on the table she stared hopelessly at the room which seemed to stretch out before her. What was she going to do now?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to anyone who read my previous chapter three. After publishing it, and attempting to go on from there I felt rather boxed in creatively so I'm going back to the initial plot for I had outlined, with "Then," and "Now" type chapters instead of chronological storytelling.
> 
> I'd been worried initially that it would be hard for readers to keep track of, but this is just one story I can't tell straight from beginning to end. Again I'm sorry.


End file.
